


It’s “My Immortal”, You Fucking Philistine

by WarMageCentral



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Immortality, Just bros being bros, M/M, Mostly Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarMageCentral/pseuds/WarMageCentral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel isn't all he appears, and decides to come clean to Feuilly for a chance at a happy ending. (Not like that. (Maybe like that))</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s “My Immortal”, You Fucking Philistine

**Author's Note:**

> This is ridiculous.
> 
> Enjoy!

“You-- you fucking-- _I can’t_. I can’t even right now, just--” Feuilly eventually gives up on his attempts at speech altogether and allows himself to be swept up by a fit of full-body laughter, tears streaming down a face that is almost the same shade of red as his hair.

Which, honestly, _rude_. This is _not_ the reaction Bahorel had expected when he decided to break the news to his long-suffering roommate that he was immortal. This is a Very Big Deal that could change both their lives - and possibly the world - indefinitely, and here Feuilly is struggling to breathe through his laughter. Seriously, what an asshole.

But he’s getting ahead of himself.

 

-

 

A considerable amount of time ago, Bahorel, then a strapping young lad of one-and-twenty, came to the realisation that he couldn’t die. Or be injured much at all for that matter. He can’t remember the details of how this came to be- Bahorel was fond of the easily-forgotten misadventures found during liquor-fuelled excursions, as youths at the time were- he only knew that he would remain young, strong, and incredibly sexy for all of eternity.

Accepting this predicament as his personal cross to bear, Bahorel had flitted from city to city through the years. He found fleeting moments of companionship through single nights of passion and felt constantly weighed down by his heavy heart - heavier even than his really rather attractive muscular physique - as Bahorel prepared himself for wandering aimlessly through eternity alone.

Until one day he thought “ _fuck it_ ” and decided, through whatever magical mumbo jumbo he had at his disposal, that he’d share his immortality with the scrawny ginger runt he dragged in to be his roommate sometime in the 2000’s.

If you were to ask Bahorel why he chose Feuilly of all people to have by his side until the end of days, you probably wouldn’t get a straight answer. Because honestly, he’s not quite sure. Feuilly’s funny, there’s a reason. He’s usually a sarcastic asshole but at least he’d keep Bahorel entertained for most of eternity. Also Feuilly makes really great coffee. And he has a fucktonne of little freckles, plus a mole on his chest that he _never_ puts enough sunscreen on in the summer. Even though, with his jobs that keep him up at odd hours, Feuilly never ventures out any earlier than early evening _anyway_ but that’s not the _point_ dammit. And maybe Feuilly’s laugh sounds like bells chiming and his smile lights up the room but that’s, like, whatever.

The important thing is, Bahorel had decided to let Feuilly in on the fact that he’s essentially Edward Cullen minus the brooding, blood-drinking, and awful hair. And he had painstakingly planned every detail so as to make Feuilly as comfortable and chilled as humanly possible when he broke the news.

Feuilly had just looked suspicious when he came home from work to their newly-cleaned apartment, ice cold beer already on the table awaiting his arrival. Putting his keys in the bowl (of course he’d insisted they get a key bowl, what a fucking _dork_ ) and removing his jacket, Feuilly moved from the door over to the couch where Bahorel was sitting with what he hoped was an innocent expression (that he would later find out actually looked akin to that of a constipated parrot).

His roommate took a long pull from his bottle before addressing Bahorel with surprising calm, “What did you do?”

Bahorel takes a moment to gasp indignantly “Nothing! Can’t I help my best friend relax after a hard night’s work by making sure he comes home to a nice cold beer and the pleasure of my company?” He tries for a charming grin that, back in his day, would serve to make many a maid - and not a few merry men - swoon into his arms.

Feuilly gently places a hand on Bahorel’s cheek, the latter stilling completely and holding his breath, for some reason faltering in the wake of his friend’s own small smile. It’s honestly a beautiful moment, until Feuilly deadpans “No.” and, with the hand that had been cupping his cheek, slaps Bahorel in the face.

Radiating satisfaction at the sight of his roommate’s scandalised expression, Feuilly leans back into the couch and lets out a long sigh after taking another gulp of his beer. You could almost say he looks content when he asks Bahorel again, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I swear!” Bahorel throws his hands into the air exasperatedly, “I’m trying to have a moment with you.”

For some reason something in Feuilly’s eyes instantly steels, and he places his beer on the coffee table and turns off the neglected television. His expression is nothing but deadly serious as he stares Bahorel down - impressive given their height difference even while seated - and whispers dangerously, “Bahorel, if you _dare_ try to ask me for a ‘brojob’ right now, I _swear--_ ”

“ _Wait, what?!”_ Bahorel all but shrieks, because he can’t let Feuilly finish that sentence. Surely he isn’t implying what Bahorel thinks he’s implying. There’s so many images flying through his brain right now, he very well might pass out. So much so that he’s missed half of what Feuilly has been saying.

“-- of guys trying to come up with excuses to suck each other’s dicks without being gay or whatever. I’ve never hidden my own bisexuality and you’re a horny bastard at the best of times so it’s not too far a stretch to assume…” Feuilly trails off in a way that would be awkward for anyone else, but because it’s Feuilly, he keeps his head held high, eyes offering nothing but challenge.

“Okay first off,” Bahorel begins, “I would never pretend that I’m straight for any reason, if I sucked your dick, _I’d suck your dick_ , I’d rock your world, full fucking homo intended.” Deciding to power on through despite Feuilly’s utterly flabbergasted expression, - and yeah maybe talking about sucking your sorta-crush's dick in front of your sorta-crush isn’t the best idea - Bahorel takes a deep breath and decides to come right on out with the truth, “Secondly, I wanted to tell you that… I’m immortal.”

“Okay.”

“I know it’s a lot to wrap your head around but-- wait, what do you mean ‘okay’?”

“I mean okay,” Feuilly simply _shrugs_ , as if he hasn’t just received earth-shattering news that is bound to change their lives forever. He takes another sip of his beer and adds in an infuriatingly nonchalant tone “I always thought you were just really well-groomed but I guess that explains it.” He finishes with a considering hum before turning the television on again, as if they had just discussed what to have for dinner or something equally as mundane.

When it looks like Feuilly is content to sit and watch TV for the rest of the night, Bahorel has to snap his fingers in front of his friend’s face. Feuilly actually has the gall to look irritated and huff, “What?”

“Dude! I just told you I’m basically Jesus or something--”

“That’s blasphemous.”

“-- and you’re sitting watching television?”

Feuilly blinks at him owlishly for a moment. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” Bahorel drawls sarcastically, “maybe ask me some questions? Act scared? Show a fucking interest?”

Sighing, Feuilly switches off the TV again and turns in his seat to face Bahorel directly. “Okay sorry. So how did you become immortal?”

Of course he had to ask the one question he can’t answer, “Yeah I don’t actually know that one. Next!” He shouts gleefully, excited at the prospect of being able to actually share all this with everyone, all of the things he’s seen through the years, his experiences and knowledge.

“Okay, well then when did you become immortal?”

That one’s easy at least, “1991.” It’s then, that Feuilly loses his shit everywhere, letting out an unearthly cackle, bringing us back to the beginning.

“You-- you fucking-- _I can’t_. I can’t even right now, just--”

“What the fuck are you laughing at, asswagon?” Bahorel demands.

“Dude, dude,” Feuilly splutters, “you’re like forty!” This sets off another round of giggles and convulsions and Bahorel is starting to feel a bit put-out. Apparently picking up on his friend’s confusion, Feuilly composes himself enough to explain, “You make this big dramatic announcement being all ‘ _I’m immortal_ ’,” here he poorly imitates Bahorel’s husky baritone, “I mean I thought you were going to be this sage-as-fuck guy who’s seen the rise and fall of empires and really you’re a-- you’re a--”

“I’m a what?”

“ _A fucking 90’s kid.”_

Feuilly is beyond the realm of basic communication for the next fifteen minutes. Bahorel is livid.

But he is _not_ pouting. At all.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Feuilly eventually gasps, “I was a bit of a dick there it’s just, wow, wasn’t expecting that.” Bahorel shoots daggers at his roommate when it looks like he’s about to be set off again but Feuilly holds up two placating hands and swears “I’m all laughed out, scout’s honour.”

“You were never a scout.”

“I never had any honour, either.”

And this, this is easy, effortless. Banter with Feuilly feels like second nature by now. The vibe in the room even feels close to normal now.

“So, moving on from the fact that you’re basically a particularly sprightly sugar daddy,” Feuilly swats away the hand that Bahorel attempts to hit him with, “how come you decided to tell me now?”

Bahorel had hoped he could avoid talking about this little ditty for at least a few weeks, but with Feuilly looking at him so earnestly with those _eyes_ and the _freckles_ on that _face_ , he decides to take his own words of wisdom that got him here in the first place.

 _Fuck it_.

“Well, I’ve heard talk in the lesser-known corners of the world that people in my situation can choose another person to like, spend forever with. Or whatever.”

Feuilly says nothing, reveals nothing, simply raises a single eyebrow and gives a slight nod, silently urging Bahorel to continue. He’s come this far, might as well just fuck shit up entirely.

“So I’d kinda hoped, after you’d gotten over your _overwhelming shock_ over my immortality,” Bahorel pauses to stare pointedly at Feuilly, who just snorts, damn him, “That you’d want to be that person. Because you are hot, like smokin’ hot, hot as _balls_. Basically. And I might be falling in love with you an itty bitty bit. So it’d be a bit of a downer if you got old and died on me so. What do you say,” Bahorel looks Feuilly directly in the eye and asks with all of the conviction he can muster, “stay with me forever?”

“You could have just asked me to the movies you fuckin’ dicksicle.” Is all Feuilly says before he launches himself towards Bahorel at the other end of the couch and all but smashes their mouths together. Their noses bump into each other, their teeth clack horribly together, and one of Bahorel’s arms gets caught awkwardly between Feuilly and the couch when the former decides to straddle his hips.

Which is to say, best kiss _ever_.

“That was a yes, by the way.” Feuilly breaks away long enough to mumble, before beginning to administrate a number of small nips and kisses along Bahorel’s jaw line, making his way down his neck. When Bahorel feels a particularly sharp bite on his collarbone, he decides he could die happy right then and there. You know, if he could.

“The whole eternity together thing shouldn’t be a problem either.” Feuilly chirps.

“Hm? And why’s that?” Bahorel asks a little groggily and without a single ounce of negativity in his entire body.

“Well, because I’m a vampire.” Feuilly grins happily around slightly elongated canines, a look of pure unadulterated love in his eyes.

Mother _fucker._

**Author's Note:**

> Idk where this came from, I was in the mood for Bahorel/Feuilly fics and laughing to myself about the infamous "My Immortal" fic so I rolled with this idea.
> 
> I might actually make a sequel to this or make it into a series? 
> 
> Feel free to let me know what you think, and I'm also taking prompts for Bahorel/Feuilly oneshots as well as other pairings/fandoms so drop me a line whenever.
> 
> I hope you have a gorgeous day <3


End file.
